Elsewhere in Success (22 page)

Out of a clear blue sky a tiny meteor seems to have fallen to earth. Just before the point of disintegration it hits Buddha, shattering him.

Louisa is standing at the kitchen bench before a small stack of dishes, staring through the window as the sink slowly fills with hot water. Buddha flies to pieces before her eyes. At that point, Louisa, and everything around her, is frozen in time. The sky remains still, clear and empty. The water from the sink overflows and Louisa comes to, turning off the tap in a little panic. She calls out to Harry, causing Buster to send up a shrill bark.

‘Harry! Come here.'

‘What is it?' He appears from the bedroom half dressed.

‘It's Buddha.'

He pulls on his dressing-gown against the cool morning and they venture outside to get a closer look. Buddha lies broken amidst the clover. They search around the pieces, but can find no likely culprit: no small piece of metallic rock; no nearby honky nut from the gum tree. Nothing jettisoned from a passing aircraft joy-riding out of Jandakot airport. There has been no light aircraft for over half an hour.

‘What happened?' he asks. ‘Did you see anything?'

Louisa tells what she saw and what she believes. There will be a rational explanation. They just haven't found it yet. She feels sad as she looks at the shattered pieces of Buddha.

‘It's a shame,' says Harry, ‘but they have them down near the markets, so we can easily get another one.'

Louisa leans her head on Harry's chest. ‘I miss Tom,' she says.

‘I know you do.'

‘I feel like if I stop thinking about him, or if I stop suffering over him, it will be as if he never existed. What if I let him go and he disappears?'

‘He won't.'

‘What if I forget him?'

‘You won't.'

‘You think so?'

Harry nods.

‘I've spent so much time thinking about him that I don't know what would happen to me if I stopped. What if there was nothing left? What if that's all I am, Harry?'

‘It's not.'

‘Yes, I guess.'

‘You won't forget him.'

‘I know.'

‘I'll be here,' Harry tells her. ‘I'm here.'

‘I don't even know what I want. I don't know if anyone does. Do you?'

‘When?'

‘Generally.'

‘No. Yes. Just to be happy and to get by.'

Louisa grins. ‘That sounds achievable,' she says. ‘To survive.'

‘Not just that. Together.' Harry gives her a squeeze. ‘Anyway, we ought to aim higher than survival, Lou.'

He points to the rounded edge of a tennis ball lodged in the rosebush. ‘Look at that.' He extracts it. ‘Here's the culprit.'

‘I still think it was a meteorite,' she says.

He throws the ball across the road, and returns to the house to finish dressing.

She stands for some time staring down at the green and white ceramic pieces scattered amongst the winter grass.

‘Poor old Buddha,' she says. ‘Shouldn't have got attached. That'll teach me.'

She decides that she won't replace the statue. In the Himalayas Buddhists put up prayer flags and every time the wind blows, their prayers are taken up. Sometimes they might be heard and answered. Maybe she could do that – write a prayer on a rectangle of silk and place it there for the breeze to catch.

Standing in the sunlight Louisa is startled by the fluttering of wings and a small rush of wind by her face. A common grey dove flies in, landing on the birdbath, and a second later its mate lands beside it. One stands guard while the other bathes.

I am grateful to all those who helped me to bring this, my first novel, to its realisation: my partner Andrew for his unwavering enthusiasm throughout the process of the book's inception and realisation, and to Hamish for his inspirational antics. I am grateful to all of my family for their interest and support, to Norm and Beryl for the use of their home-as-writing-retreat, my daughter's friend Linda who showed me that it is possible to stop talking about it and just do it, to all of my friends, especially Jill, David and Denise, and to Dr Helena Grehan, Natalie Kon-yu and Lucas North for their reading, and their thoughtful and encouraging responses to the early manuscript. I am particularly indebted to Dr Chris McLeod, who mentored me with such generosity, and without whose insight, expertise and encouragement, I don't think I would have felt sufficiently confident to complete this novel; and to Sylvia McLeod for her support. Thanks also to Tom Flood for the later manuscript appraisals and a fresh viewpoint, which was so helpful in further progressing the work; and to Chris and Tom for their wonderful letters of support. Finally I want to express my heartfelt appreciation to Georgia Richter and Kate O'Donnell who guided me with patience, skill and sensitivity through the editing process. Thank you, Georgia, for the great compliment of paying such close attention to this novel in its final incarnation.